More Like Me
by randomprose
Summary: War isn't just glorified tales of victory. People are fighting for their lives. Some are fighting for the power it will earn them. Some, like me, think they're fighting for power but are disillusioned faster than you can say Quidditch. M for language.


_I've become so numb, I can't feel you there_

_Become so tired, so much more aware_

_I'm becoming this, all I want to do_

_Is be more like me and be less like you_

_Numb – Linkin Park_

________________________________________________________________________

It is mid-July. The summer before I am due to start my sixth year at Hogwarts. I am visiting my father in Azkaban with my mother. I am sure he does not deserve this place. When I stop in front of his cell he calls my name. His voice seems hollow and not at all powerful or commanding like I am used to. He tells me it is time. This can only mean one thing. I smirk to myself before assuming a look of stoicism. As Lucius Malfoy's son, it is very inappropriate to act anything except calm and collected. Not that I have much difficulty with this what with demetors about. Secretly though, I am ecstatic. I have been waiting for this for a long time. I thought I would have to wait longer. It is although Christmas has come early.

"The Dark Lord has decided you are ready to accept the dark mark." my father whispers.

"Is that so?" I'm sure I must be oozing excitement but neither my mother or father seem to notice.

"Yes. Once you have received the mark then you will be able to perform the task he has assigned for you. Just wait, son. Our dreams of an all pure blood society will be realized. Those filthy mudbloods and blood traitors will be gone soon enough." my father rasps.

"Lucius." my mother begins hesitantly, "I'm worried about his safety. He's only a boy. Are you sure he's ready?"

"Nonsense Narcissa." father is quick to reassure. "If anyone can do this it's Draco. Who better?"

Mother hardly seems convinced but does not press the matter further. I turn back to my father. "When will it happen?"

"Tonight. The Dark Lord will be at the manor when you get back I daresay. This is a great honor!"

I merely nod at this assessment. For some reason I am filled with slight unease. Something mother said just now. I immediately push it from my mind. Father looks at me curiously. Perhaps he took my lack of enthusiasm as an insult. He looks at me like he's trying to bore into my skull. I feel him trying to break into my mind and without a wand no less. Now I am insulted as I block him out.

"There is no need for that, father." I quip.

"This will be good. The mudbloods will be gone." father repeats himself as though in a trance. Frankly it is a bit unnerving. Mother and I bid our farewells and proceed home. After all, I have a big night ahead of me.

**********

By the time I return to school I am changed. Whether it is a good change or a bad one, remains to be seen. The task I have been set is the only thing on my mind. It consumes me. After sitting through yet another Sorting ceremony and listlessly picking at my food Dumbledore stands up to speak. I glare at this man loathingly before turning back to my plate of mashed potatoes and peas. I do my best to tune him out still catching phrases like 'Tom Riddle' and 'increased security measures.' I resist the urge to laugh. If this man had two clues I wouldn't be in the castle. However Professor Snape is on my side. Snape is the only one in the castle who knows. He says he will help me but I highly doubt I will need it. I can't even decide if I trust him. Aunt Bellatrix says he isn't really loyal to the Dark Lord. I don't particularly care as long as he leaves me be.

Potter comes in the Great Hall with a bloody yet no longer broken nose. I snigger a bit but I'm mystified as to how he got off the train. Oh well, I'm sure the message has sunk in. He knows to mind his own business now. Just because everyone else at this sad excuse of a school lets Potter get away with whatever the hell he pleases, doesn't mean I have to. I see him glare at me. He knows I'm planning something but it doesn't matter. When push comes to shove Potter is clueless. He has no real information and it's my word against his. This I would learn, and should've known, does not stop Potter.

**********

I had to quit the Quidditch team. Well I haven't officially quit but if I miss anymore games I may as well. Naturally this feeds Potter's curiosity. On the way to Potions class I manage to overhear him talking in low voices with Granger and Weasley about his suspicions. For a moment I panic. What if they believe him? How long will it take before they go to Dumbledore? However I relax as I hear Granger scoff.

"Don't be so paranoid, Harry! Malfoy's a prat sure, but he is no death eater!"

"Yeah Harry, come off it. You-Know-Who wants dark wizards in his army, not snivelling cowards." agrees Weasley.

I am seriously tempted to curse the hell out of him. Weasley's been asking for it since day one.

"I know he's up to something!" Potter insists. "He's skipping Quidditch matches and he's rarely on the map!"

I pause. What the bloody hell kind of map does Potter have to be able to see where I am? Or rather, where I'm not? This is an annoying development but it doesn't seem to help Potter any.

"Harry, You-Know-Who wouldn't make Malfoy a death eater." Granger sounds like she's about to announce the great flaw in Potter's theory.

"And why not?" Potter sounds annoyed.

"Malfoy can't be a death eater because he's only sixteen! He's a student, Harry. I highly doubt You-Know-Who has much use for an under-qualified wizard. So whatever Malfoy's up to, if he's up to anything at all, it's something else." Granger says confidently.

Her reasoning is obviously off but I'm grateful she has that view. Potter is the brawn and Granger is the brain. I'm not entirely sure where the Weasel fits in but whatever. Thanks to his two little sidekicks, Potter is off my back for awhile.

**********

It's nearly Christmas. I've made one attempt at murdering Dumbledore. Instead of him dying, that Gryffindor Chaser Katie Bell takes the blow somehow managing to survive. All she had to do was deliver the bloody necklace to him without touching it. Was that so hard? Must be a Gryffindor thing. So really, it's not my fault she's in St. Mungos. It's her own for having some innate desire to break the rules.

In the meantime I go back to fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. It's taking longer than I expected. It's _harder_ than I expected. This whole thing. Lately I've been getting letters from father. Clearly being in Azkaban hasn't hindered his ambitions. He keeps asking about the task. Reminding me of what will happen if I fail. Like I don't bloody know! He tries motivating me by reminding me that the mudbloods will be gone. Well what other motivation is there? His letters are beyond frustrating.

I look up from his latest letter at breakfast. I see Granger staring at me from across the Great Hall. I stare back curiously. She has a worried expression on her face. I highly doubt she's worried about me per se. More likely she's worried that Potter has been right about me all along. What's funny about Granger is that my disdain for her never really stemmed from her parentage. Honestly, the term 'mudblood' never entered my vocabulary until the summer after first year.

No, at first I just didn't like her by default for being friends with Potter. The next time I decided I didn't like her was because she came off as such a know-it-all. Top of every class, except flying but really, that hardly counts. The next time I decide I hate her is when she decides to be a hypocrite. She spent all that time preaching about school rules. She was a mini-prefect. Then she turns around and joins Potter on a rule-breaking escapade. And has proceeded to do so every year since. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise at finding out she's a mudblood. I never would've guessed seeing as she knows damn near everything about the Wizarding world. Things I grew up learning. Things Potter wouldn't even begin to understand.

Father was not pleased to hear that Granger had beat me in every class. He said it was disgraceful. That's when he called her a mudblood. Well I now had ammunition to vent my frustration on her. The one thing she could never beat me at. The magic in my pure blood goes back centuries. Her magic is just a fluke. Some strange coincidence that father believes will taint society.

I stop. Broke from my reverie I see Granger has gone back to talking with Potter and Weasley. I realize that I don't like Granger because she is friends with Scarhead, because she is smarter than me, because she breaks rules and gets away with it. Her parentage comes to mind but it feels forced. In one of my fleeting bouts of maturity, I decide it's easy to hate someone you do not know. It's easy to hate someone because others think you should for reasons that person can't control. I shake my head, forcing the thoughts from my brain and go back to eating breakfast, my father's letter crumbling in my fist.

_Some strange coincidence that father believes will taint society_.

**********

New term. Weasel drank the poisoned mead that I had intended for Dumbledore. Bloody fucking hell. Not only does he inadvertently tip everyone off about the mead but he has the audacity to survive. I hate him.

Between trying to mend that stupid, goddamned cabinet and Potter following me around and everyone nearly dying **except** Dumbledore, I am losing my mind. I can't remember why I am doing this anymore. Someone remind me how killing Dumbledore gets rid of the mudbloods. I can't seem to remember what the point is. Pansy says I look pale. I tell her I'm always pale. Blaise wants to know why I stopped playing Quidditch. I tell him I don't have time for it anymore. Even though that is essentially the truth he looks at me skeptically.

"Draco, aren't you going to finish eating?" Pansy asks seeing that I'm preparing to leave the Great Hall.

I want to tell her to fuck off. Tell her that I'm too fucking stressed to eat. I want to tell her to mind her own business. Instead I reply calmly saying, "No, I think I'm just going to head back to the common room."

Providing no further explanation, I leave but I don't go to the common room. Walking briskly to the second floor corridor I duck in the nearest room. Getting my bearings I see it's a bathroom. I go up to the sink and stare in the mirror. Okay I look paler than usual. I have dark circles under my eyes. I look awful. I turn the faucets on and splash water on my face thinking it might help clear my head. Instead the opposite seems to occur. I sink to the floor and my breathing becomes slightly erratic. I know I am on the verge of tears and try to fight them back despite being alone. I feel dizzy. This is too much for me to handle. I can't fucking kill Dumbledore. He's much more powerful than I am. The only one close to him in power is the Dark Lord himself.

"Excuse me but this is the girl's lavatory!" a shrill voice comes from behind. I am sure it's Granger's voice, I mean, who else gets that annoyed about something so trivial?

I turn around fully prepared to tell her off but there is no one there. I huff loudly. I don't _need_ this right now. "Look Granger I know it's you, no need to hide."

"Granger?" The voice I heard before is just as shrill, "You mean that bushy haired girl who made polyjuice? I am not her!"

Granger made polyjuice? I am aware we're supposed to be learning that in potions at some point, figures she already knows how.

"Okay then, who are you? And where are you?" I ask.

The ghost of a young girl materializes in front of me. Her hair is in pigtails and she is wearing glasses. "I'm Myrtle and you," she repeats with great disdain, "are in the girl's lavatory."

"I bloody well know that!" I snap. Okay I had no idea. But having the ghost of a twelve year old girl yell at me for it is not helping matters.

"Then what are you doing in here? I suppose you've come to make fun of me like all the others?" asks Myrtle in an accusatory voice.

"Just hiding." I mumble. I sound quite pathetic, don't I? I clue in that this ghost is in no mood for company. "But I guess I'll go somewhere else." I stand up to leave.

Myrtle's expression softens and she takes in my appearance for the first time. "Wait, don't go."

I turn back around. "Why not?"

"You look dreadful."

"That's a reason to stay?" My voice is laced with disbelief. Even a ghost is ragging on my appearance.

Ignoring me she says, "Why don't you tell me about it? Or you don't have to I guess but I wouldn't bother you. I promise!"

My disbelief increases. This is how I came to know Moaning Myrtle.

**********

I go to see Myrtle more and more frequently. I speak incoherent sentences that can't possibly make any sense to her. I cry in front of her but she doesn't ridicule me for it. She seems to think that I am friendless. That people tease me like they did her when she was alive. I don't bother to correct her. She wouldn't care much for the truth anyway. She tells me she is muggleborn and I laugh at the irony. The things I do are in effort to get rid of muggleborns and here I am crying to one.

The reason I go to see her is because unlike everyone else, she doesn't expect anything from me. Father and the Dark Lord keep saying to hurry up and finish Dumbledore off. The Slytherins expect me to be their leader. Crabbe and Goyle have half a brain between the two of them and don't know which way is up if I don't tell them. Everyone else just doesn't care. Unless they're Harry fucking Potter and are trying to A) figure out what I'm up to and B) put a stop to it.

I stop crying but my face is tear-stained. My hair is dishevelled and my school robes are wrinkled. My skin looks sort of waxy and pale as ever. My breathing is erratic again. I think I'm going to hyperventilate in a minute but Myrtle calms me down.

"Just relax, okay? What's bothering you so? Please tell me Draco, I can help you." she soothes.

I calm down enough to scoff. What can a ghost do for me? I shake my head at her. "No, no I can't tell you…He says he'll kill me…no one can help me...it's not working, it's not working."

Myrtle looks taken aback. I stare at the mirror clutching the sides of the sink. I hear the bathroom door open and close. That isn't right. Nobody comes in here. Nobody but me and…fuck, it's Potter.

"Tell me what you're up to Malfoy." Potter demands.

I don't even bother to answer. I whip out my wand and fire a random hex at him. It misses and he sends one back at me. Leg-locker by the look of it. I dodge it and send out the Cruciatus. Fuck, I missed again. It would have been oh so wonderful to watch Potter writhe in pain. I'm vaguely aware of broken sinks and toilets but I'm too busy trying to curse Potter to watch the water spilling on the floor. The next spell Potter throws at me is one I've never heard before.

"Sectumsempra!" he bellows.

Next thing I know is that I am on my back in a puddle of water. Hot, searing pain envelops me. My chest is bleeding profusely. Suddenly I can't breathe properly. I'm choking and retching and I can't stop. It hurts so bad. Myrtle is screaming murder. Literally. I glance at Potter. He's bent over me looking sorry. Fucking idiot. My vision is going blurry. Myrtle's screams seem a million miles away. Everything is fuzzy. I hear footsteps and someone else is bent over me. I black out.

**********

When I wake up I'm in the hospital wing. The lights are dim so I figure it's night time. I sit up and surprisingly it doesn't hurt as much as I would've thought. I take in my surroundings and Professor Snape is sitting in a chair by my bed watching me carefully.

"You're lucky to be alive." he says in that monotonous voice of his.

I don't respond. I don't know what he wants me to say. Frankly I'm still pissed at him for assuming I can't handle the task on my own. Potter nearly killing me has probably reconfirmed that notion.

"I guess you healed me then?" I say this with resentment and not gratitude.

"Correct Mr. Malfoy. How Potter came across that bit of dark magic I have a hunch but for now all that matters is your recovery." Snape replies.

"I can't stay here." I answer.

"Your task can wait, Draco. Your recovery-"

"My recovery will mean nothing if I fail!" I snap.

Snape glares at me. "I have offered to help you many times."

"No. Father wants me to do it alone!" I said that too fast and Snape knows it.

Snape's brows knit together and he gives me a curious look. "What's your opinion of muggleborns, Draco?"

"They're filthy and inferior." I answer automatically, "Unworthy to study magic."

Snape doesn't look convinced. "But?"

"But nothing! What does it matter?" I'm becoming exasperated.

"I'm just beginning to wonder if your heart is really in it. I can imagine the wrath of the Dark Lord should you fail. I know your father wouldn't be pleased either." Snape answers.

"He's been building me up for this for as long as I can remember. I think I wanted the title, not the actual job." I admit slowly.

Snape nods. "What do you want now?"

I instantly shake my head. "It doesn't matter. If I fail then it's practically a death sentence!"

"Forget about the Dark Lord for a minute and answer the question." says Snape.

"Father and I…we don't want the same things anymore." I am aware of how low my voice has gotten. Telling Snape this probably isn't a good idea.

"What do you want now?" Snape repeats his question.

I think about my answer before speaking. I think about how unhappy I've become over the course of this year. Crying to the ghost of a muggleborn is probably a huge hint that I want out. My left arm tenses. That is not an option. I'm in too deep. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I sigh audibly.

"I want to live without war looming over my head. The muggleborns aren't worth dying over. Certainly not worth spending the rest of my life in Azkaban if we lose. I just want to be more like me and less what father wants me to be. That's what I want." How's that for honesty?

"Well who would've thought?" Snape seems to be speaking to himself rather than me. "You are right though, The Dark Lord doesn't take too kindly to failure. You cannot simply back out."

"I know."

"I will help you, Draco and you will let me. If not for yourself then for your mother."

"Fine."

Snape saved my life tonight. Go figure. I can't remember why I didn't think I could trust him.

**********

It is mid-July again. My father managed to escape Azkaban. Dumbledore is dead and Snape killed him. I hear the other death eaters whispering about how I'm a coward because I couldn't do it. I bite my tongue; ignoring their jibes. My parents and I know how lucky we are the Dark Lord hasn't flat out killed us. Saying we are on thin ice is an understatement. I think Snape has something to do with that. The Dark Lord is probably partial to him now that he's killed his greatest nemesis. Other than Potter, of course.

It's strangely easy, isn't it, to hear about the deaths of strangers and not care. It's easy not to care that strangers died because of someone else's ignorance. Because of your ignorance. Not the way you would if you knew the person anyway. I have little doubt that if I had been assigned to kill someone I did not know I wouldn't have had the problems I had trying to kill Dumbledore. I mean, I had him cornered and unarmed. I knew him, though. He felt bad for me; wanted to help me. How was I supposed to deal with that? He saw right through me, he knew that I _could_ kill him but that I didn't want to. He saw and I hesitated.

I never cared for the old man. He never paid me much attention and vice versa. But I feel like he actually saw me that night. Saw and understood. Probably thought me better because I didn't want to kill him, the fool. My own father wouldn't have been so understanding. I'd probably have been deemed a weak, little blood traitor on the spot.

**********

I'm sitting in my room in the manor. I'm sitting on my bed with a letter clenched in my hand. This letter isn't from father to me. This letter is from me to him. I wrote it months ago but I never sent it. I didn't have the gall to send a measly letter so how could I have killed Dumbledore? I should've seen it then but I had blinders on. Tunnel vision. I wanted father's approval. That meant more than the Dark Lord's but killing Dumbledore satisfied them both. My fears, what I wanted, even the help I should've had with this, all that took the back burner. I was too proud and that's why I didn't send the letter. What could father have done even he wanted to help? He was in Azkaban after all.

_Dear Father,_

_While I'm sure you mean well in your letters I feel like you're smothering me. This is getting to be too much. I want to please the Dark Lord but I don't know if I'm going to be able to. Nothing I try works. The pressure on me right now is high and I think I'm cracking under it. Is that how you felt last year when you had to get Potter's prophecy? How did it feel when you didn't succeed? The way you push me to fix your mistake is honestly unbearable. _

_And I know that I may end up failing too, but I know you were just like me with someone disappointed in you.__i__ That's what I'm most scared of. Not the Dark Lord's disappointment, though. Just yours. I know he hopes I fail so he has an excuse to kill me. It's to be your punishment. Does that mean you love me, father? Would it hurt you if he killed me? You should know, nothing I do is solely for the Dark Lord. It's for you and mother as well…our family. It's so we can live. _

_Your son,_

_Draco_

After reading through the letter one last time I crumple it and toss it in the fireplace. I stare at it, running my fingers through my blonde hair. Then I pull out my wand.

"Incendio." I mutter and watch the letter erupt into flames.

I watch the fire and I know things are changing fast. Dumbledore's death is the catalyst for what's coming. A full out war. I think I am on the stronger side but I'm beginning to wonder if it is the right one. Right and easy have been two different things all along. I never noticed before. But like the letter I never sent my father, the right thing is burning up. It's all about survival now. I guess that's all its ever been about. I continue watching the flames until they slowly die out.

~fin~

i "And I know I may end up failing too. But I know, you were just like me with someone disappointed in you." Quoted from "Numb" by Linkin Park. –This particular line served as my main inspiration for the story and is essentially what brought the story on so I thought it appropriate to include.


End file.
